


Come Back to Me

by AlyKat



Series: Chicken Soup for the Starfleet Officer's Soul [4]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e24 Desert Crossing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, slight episode rewrite, takes place during and directly after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 12:55:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15819294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: He didn’t want to drink the damned water, he just wanted to sleep. If he slept, then maybe when he woke up, it would have all just been some bad dream, and he was still curled up in bed with Malcolm. That’s what he really wanted. To be stretched out on Malcolm’s bunk, the man pressed into his side, head resting on Trip’s chest as they slept their off hours away together. He wanted to be with Malcolm…





	Come Back to Me

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to get back into writing. I have a nice loooooooooong Trip/Mal fic in the works, but with the hectic life I've been leading lately, I haven't had much time to work on it. Was trying to work on it this past weekend, but, didn't get very far. So, decided to ease myself back into writing these guys with a nice little fic to add to my Chicken Soup for the Starfleet Officer's Soul series. Hope you enjoy it. As is always the case with these little fics, they're unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine and I fully apologize that.

 

 

“You would be shot down before you reach the atmosphere!”

“With you at the helm, our chances would improve.”

“I don’t have time! My men are waiting for me!”

Malcolm bristled as he felt his ire rising the more the two aliens went back and forth. He didn’t care about Zobral or his men, or the Torothans threatening to fire on them if they launched a rescue shuttle to find his Captain and the Commander; he just cared about getting the two of them back! Safe and sound! He was growing tired of nearly losing Trip. 

“Then they’ll have to wait a little long,” said Malcolm, as he forced himself to keep his tone in check and worries at bay, “You’re the one who got our people stranded down there.”

“They are not  _ my _ responsibility!” Zobral spat, thumping his closed fist to his chest as he got face to face with Malcolm. 

Old habits being what they were, Malcolm stood his ground even as he closed his eyes and looked away, shifting only slightly on his feet as he forced back old memories. The action was just a little too similar to his father’s for comfort and it was hard to keep the bile from rising up in his throat.  

“You’re mistaken.” T’Pol took a step closer to Zobral as the man made to start down the stairs leading to his ship waiting below. Malcolm shuffled back a pace, giving the Sub Commander room to slip by him as she continued her calm but stern counter-argument. “The Torothans believe we have joined your cause. If Captain Archer and Commander Tucker are apprehended, they’ll undoubtedly be treated as members of your clan. They’ll become victims of the same oppression you’ve been fighting all these years. You should feel as responsible for those two men as you do for your own.” 

Zobral’s back stiffened, his chin raised as he cast Malcolm a defiant glance before giving a sharp nod in agreement. He would help them get past the Torothans defences so that they could rescue their missing men. It was the least he could do, Malcolm thought as he sprang into action, after putting two innocent lives in danger like he had. 

~*~*~

The flickering glow of a small fire was the first thing Trip acknowledged as he slowly swam back to consciousness. His back still pressed up against the wooden beam, he rolled his head slightly and stared out at his friend and commanding officer through barely opened eyes. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, his body like a ton of bricks were being piled on top of it. It took a second for his mouth to even form the words before he was finally able to speak. 

“What’d’ya do? Rub...two sticks t’gether?” 

“I found a new use for the stun setting,” Archer explained as he poured more of the boiled water into his canteen before setting the ladle aside and moving back to Trip’s side. “It may not taste too good, but I think I boiled away anything that can hurt us.”

Trip’s eyes fluttered shut, they were too heavy to keep open. 

“No thanks,” he mumbled, not able to keep his words from slurring slightly. “ ‘m not thirsty…”

Archer huffed in aggravation and dropped his head for a moment. “Let’s not get into that argument again.” 

Finally forcing his eyes to open just enough to give Archer a baleful stare, Trip leaned his head down just enough to take a slow sip. Not nearly enough of the water had managed to slide down the back of his throat before the rancid taste caught up with it. His face scrunched in disgust and he turned his head away quickly, spitting the water out across the sand floor with a small gag. Beside him, Archer deflated.

“Worse than blood soup,” Trip muttered, spitting the taste out of his mouth once more. 

“You need water,”

“What I need,” he sighed, head tilted back to rest on the beam once more, “is sleep.” 

“You got a fever, Trip.” Archer argued, “Your heart’s racing. You got all the symptoms of heatstroke. If you fall asleep, you could lapse into a coma.”

Trip slowly opened his eyes, still struggling to catch his breath. “A coma?”

Archer nodded silently. 

“That sounds nice…” 

“When we get back to  _ Enterprise _ you can sleep all you want. But right now, you gotta stay with me and drink this water.” Archer pressed on. 

Trip felt Archer move closer to him and struggled to open his eyes again. He didn’t want to drink the damned water, he just wanted to sleep. If he slept, then maybe when he woke up, it would have all just been some bad dream, and he was still curled up in bed with Malcolm. That’s what he really wanted. To be stretched out on Malcolm’s bunk, the man pressed into his side, head resting on Trip’s chest as they slept their off hours away together. He wanted to be with Malcolm…

“Malcolm?”

Groggy and disoriented, Trip opened his eyes once more to stare at his Captain. “Pardon?”

Archer stared at Trip for a good long moment, and if Trip were more aware of what was happening around him, he would have seen the gears shooting off their sprockets as pieces fell into place in the other man’s mind. 

“Trip? Malcolm would want you to drink the water, wouldn’t he? He’d tell you to stop being so stubborn and just drink it, right? Don’t you think he’d be a bit upset with you if you fell into a coma?”

Damn the man for being right. Malcolm would be upset. He’d be down right furious with Trip if that happened. Hell, it took a week or more for Malcolm to finally stop being upset over Trip nearly dying when the Vox Sola captured him -- and there was nothing Trip could have done to prevent nearly dying that time. This time, he could prevent it. This time, Malcolm would no doubt have Phlox resuscitate him just so the damned Brit could kill him properly himself.

“If I had a needle, I’d give it to you intravenously, but I don’t.” Archer’s voice was on the brink of pleading as he moved closer still, trying to convince Trip to just drink the water. Even just a little bit of it. “Now, c’mon. Sit up. There ya go.”

Trip moved more on autopilot than he did of his own command. He let Archer help him to sit up and to hold the canteen for him as he fought back the urge to throw up. The taste hadn’t improved, not even a little, but if he wanted to be left alone, he had no choice but to drink enough to satisfy the other man. It took a lot to get the water down and keep it down, but once he did, Trip pulled away with a soft gasp and slumped back into the beam. Sleep kept tugging at him, beckoning him the sweet dreams it offered, away from the pain and exhaustion. In his mind he saw Malcolm, standing right in front of him, an exasperated but fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he held his hand out for him. If he could just…

“Commander.” 

His body swayed under the nudge his shoulder received and he blinked to clear his vision. “Aye, Cap’n…” The response was automatic, his training kicking in to give a proper answer -- one that would have made Malcolm proud, actually. 

“The warp reactor...break it down for me.”

“What?”

“What are the eight major components?”

“You gotta be kiddin’ me…” Trip’s head lulled to the side, his eyes falling shut again as he licked his parched lips. 

“Name them! That’s an order.”

When Trip merely rolled his head and gave a frustrated sigh, Archer nudged against him again, forcing him to stay awake. “Malcolm, then.” 

That got Trip to open his eyes and sit up a little. “Malcolm?”

“Yeah. Heh. Tell me about Malcolm. Aside from his birthday and that he apparently enjoys pineapples, I don’t really know much about him. Tell me about him.”

Sighing heavily, Trip swallowed past the lump in his throat as he leaned his head back to stare up at the darkened ceiling. “Whaddaya wanna know?”

“Anything you wanna tell me.”

“Could take a while…”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Trip thought for a moment, trying to get his brain to function enough to put words in the right order again as he slowly began telling about their quiet, introspective armoury officer. What made him so good at what he did. The things about him that made Trip want to strangle him, the things that made him want to hold him close and protect him, the things that made him want to kiss the daylights out of him. 

~*~*~

Malcolm’s heart was in his throat the entire time Dr. Phlox ran his scans and administered the saline drip. The monitor near the biobed giving off a blip with each heartbeat as Trip lay motionless under the thin sheet. Sand was still plastered to his face and dusted his blond hair. The bright red of his hands, neck, and face proof he was in for one hell of a bad burn. Phlox assured him though, that he had an ointment that would significantly assist in the healing time, and mused -- rather joyously -- that Trip would indeed once again have a Florida “beach bum” tan for a time. 

A tan was the last thing Malcolm cared about. He only wanted Trip to be okay. When they’d found the pair, Archer was near having to carry Trip. And Trip...oh Lord, the man was fairly delusional and on the brink of passing out once they got him onboard the shuttle. It hurt to see T’Pol caring for him when Malcolm wanted nothing more than to be the one to soothe him, reassure him. He wanted to be the one to gently offer the canteen of water. To sit there on the floor of the shuttle next to him, brushing the dust and sand from his face, hair and uniform. Instead, he’d had to spare just a moment’s glance to reassure himself that Trip was fine before launching them back into the atmosphere and to their waiting ship above. 

Now, several bruised ribs and a severe bout of heat stroke later, Trip was back where he belonged. Back within Malcolm’s sight and grasp, and if Malcolm ever had a moment to confront Archer while off duty, he’d…

“Malcolm…?”

The quiet, rough drawl brought Malcolm out of his thoughts and back to Trip’s bedside. He forced himself a small smile as he gingerly placed a hand on Trip’s arm. The need to touch him, to make sure Trip was truly there, was more than Malcolm could stand. 

“I’m here. You’re alright, now.”

Taking a deep breath, Trip let his eyes fall shut again for a moment before blinking them open once more. There was more light there this time, Malcolm noted in relief, but they were still haunted with the exhaustion of being out in the desert without shelter for far longer than he should have been. 

“When we get t’ Risa,” Trip murmured, never taking his eyes off Malcolm, “I don’ even wanna  _ hear _ ‘bout any beaches. I hate sand…”

Malcolm fought back the laugh that choked its way up his throat and nodded in understanding. “No beaches, you have my word. We’ll stay as far away from sand as possible.”

“An’ no snake meat.”

“Heaven’s no. Not on our shore leave. Only the finest foods and drinks for us.”

Trip hummed and nodded as he closed his eyes, letting out a soft sigh as he relaxed back into the pillow. Malcolm watched him for a moment, keeping a careful eye on the rise and fall of Trip’s chest -- despite Phlox’s insistence that Trip was out of danger now. A danger that Trip never would have been in in the first place if Archer had just left him alone about going down to that blasted planet. It had been unprofessional and a bully move to pressure Trip into going with. Trip had made it clear he didn’t want to go to the desert planet, and Archer had pressured and manipulated until Trip had finally given in and agreed. 

Despite having been born and raised in the Florida panhandle, Trip and extreme heat just never seemed to get along. A fact Captain Archer knew full well, and yet still he prodded to get his way. What kind of a friend did that make him? 

A gentle touch to the underside of his wrist had Malcolm looking back to see those deep blue eyes staring back at him sleepily. As Trip gave a small shake of his head, sand trickled down to halo around him on the pillow. 

“I’unno what you’re thinkin’, Mal, but stop it. ‘M fine. You found me an’ the Cap’n. Brought us home ‘gain, an’ that’s all that matters.” 

“You could have died out there, Trip. You should never have been down there in the first place. He bullied you into going. What sort of a Captain does that make him?”

Trip shifted his arm so that he could take hold of Malcolm’s wrist gently and tug it towards his chapped and cracked lips for a kiss. Shushing against the pulse point as he did. 

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda,” he murmured into Malcolm’s wrist, “But didn’t. He wasn’t askin’ as my Captain right then, he was askin’ as a friend. He coulda ordered me to go with him, but didn’t. I only went t’ save you from havin’ to go down there.”

Malcolm blinked in surprise. “Save me from going down?”

“Cap’n was gonna ask you to go with, if I really insisted on not goin’ along. I know you ain’t exactly fond of the heat, an’ I at least did my survival trainin’ in a desert; you didn’t.”

Trip had put Malcolm’s discomfort ahead of his own? Yes, that sounded very much like his impossible, generous, stubborn, wonderful, idiot of a partner. Sighing, Malcolm moved to brush his lips gently across Trip’s, then over his warm forehead. 

“What on Earth am I going to do with you, Mistah Tuckah?” He whispered into Trip’s sweat damp bangs. 

“I can think of a few things,” answered Trip with a sleepy smile, “but we better save ‘em for when I’m outta sickbay.”

Huffing a laugh across Trip’s forehead, Malcolm smiled and pressed a gentle kiss into his hair. “Out of sickbay, and after a shower. I’ll not have you tracking sand into my bed.”


End file.
